Home-turf advantage

Books

by Jim Piechota

So Many Ways to Sleep Badly
by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore; City Lights Books,
$15.95

With such a plethora of things to fret about these days,
it's always nice to hear locals cooing about how even in the midst of this dire
economic state we're drowning in, nothing can hamper their love affair with San
Francisco. It's also nice to pick up books written by local writers who set
their tales right in the Bay Area, for richer or poorer, for better or worse.

The premise of Richard Kempton's slight, innocent,
self-published debut novel Fault of Babylon
may be hokey, but his story holds its own with lyrical prose and some engaging
dramatics. The book is set in 1989, with the Loma Prieta earthquake still on
everyone's minds. Italian stallion Gino lives in the Castro district with his
lover Skip, but Gino is severely closeted and terrified at the thought of what
would happen if his large family discovered his sexuality. He does a great job
of covering it up at home, though living in the Castro doesn't help matters.
Gino flinches when Skip tries to hold hands with him ("we wandered the
city, mentally hand-in-hand"), and to protect himself from further
insinuation, he even has his mail delivered from his ex-boyfriend Rodney's
address on 19th St. Even Skip takes pause to nervously consider "however
much he enjoyed sex with me, he was unwilling to discuss either our time in bed
or the nature of our relationship once lovemaking was over." Skip, 26, the
poster boy for passive-aggressive partners, works in the library of an unnamed
scientific institute under the supervision of his intimidating boss Anthony
Gigli, who not only wants him fired, but also happens to be Gino's uncle.

Eventually, all of the hiding and protective antics become
ridiculous and superfluous as Kempton's story gets progressively melodramatic,
with Gino exploring heterosexual options in order to save Skip's employment.
It's a shame that fueling the book is a somewhat boneheaded 30something gay guy
who won't verbalize any feelings of love for his lover, rejects the notion that
he's gay, and lives every moment in fear of being outed, even though he lives
in the heart of the country's largest gay ghetto. Go figure. On the plus side,
the author paints San Francisco with affectionate brushstrokes, and creates a
story that makes for an amusing diversion.

Trick lane

Supremely outspoken gender-bending author and local
shit-disturber Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore's second novel So Many Ways to
Sleep Badly also takes place in San
Francisco, but Sycamore's yarn is set in more contemporary society, which she
is clearly less than enamored of. The first is that she's dedicated her book to
San Francisco, but adds "or what's left of it." But once a toe is
dipped into her Burroughs-like stream-of-consciousness writing, it's difficult
to turn your back on such a wet and wooly ride through the streets of our
beloved SF. Sycamore's protagonist (herself, possibly?) lives in an apartment
festering with roaches, hangs with some eccentric friends (including a hot
BF/fuck buddy named Jeremy), and turns tricks for $150 an hour from a newspaper
ad. The resulting carnal carnival is effortlessly provocative.

Plot cohesion does take a back seat to pages of meaningless,
scattershot-shotgun sex from the street, phone-sex lines or online, with men
whose crotches smell like "rotten eggs" or have repulsively rank
feet. These events only complement other adventures enjoyed at very
recognizable local haunts like Powerhouse, Power Exchange, Buena Vista Park,
Aquatic Park, Nob Hill Theatre, Safeway, Bagdad Cafˇ, and many others. Sycamore
may not be in love with SF anymore, but she knows how to namedrop like a champ.
The good thing is that it surprisingly doesn't get tired, and if you are part
of the SF gay scene, it will all become relative. Her protagonist's hustling
adventures are humorous and have an authentic ring to them. Tricks can vary
wildly from "Ms. Diamond Heights" ("of the three-bedroom house,
views of all San Francisco, and artifacts strewn about like knick-knacks")
to those with decrepit apartments with wax stains on the carpet, to both Lower
and Upper Haight guys who have cheap soaps in their showers.

Toward the book's conclusion, Sycamore declares,
"Everything is saved by good sex - it really exists." Readers who
love blogs will adore Sycamore's meandering rants and endless amounts of
cock-and-ball talk and boy obsessions, but she frequently breaks out with
ruminations like a reaction to a Tommy Hilfiger bus ad: "The whole ad is
this guy's abs and the stars-and-stripes." She writes, "It's
sickening, and suddenly I'm horny in that desperate way." Scenes like
these seem to say that while we might be looking at something, are we really
seeing it? Sycamore and her aggressive material are much alike; there seems to
be a lot more here than meets the eye.